


We are Here to Elevate Souls

by michelleisat



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Gen, Intellectual Disability, Labels, Learning Disabilities, Mental Health Issues, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Schizophrenia, School, social work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:40:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2303573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelleisat/pseuds/michelleisat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working with mental health isn't easy. Yongguk teaches his young colleague, Youngjae, a lesson about the consequences of his actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are Here to Elevate Souls

**Author's Note:**

> For [The Brownie Bunch 3 lightning drabble round](http://thebrowniebunch.livejournal.com/27690.html).

Youngjae is a psychiatrist. He is doctor of the mind and proud of it.

Being a doctor gives him status, not least with the women he meets at weddings and wine bars. But what he is more proud of – that he may even admit, when made soft by sentiment – are the skills he's honed to help people. He often remembers how he was helped himself. He had walked into an office no different from the rest: just one of the many you send a kid with his head in a mess to. Like the others, the lady nodded and listened kindly. But then she gave him a neat chart to log his thoughts in.

Youngjae was intrigued. He liked charts.

Three sessions later, his mind was clear. He had map of his thoughts that he could hold in his hand. Whenever he felt lost in the world, he took out that chart and wrote his thoughts into the correct spaces. It turned out to be a map for his future. No social worker had been able to do that for him. 

He knows social workers. They streamed in and out of his home, checking to see if Youngjae had been fed, giving his Mum food vouchers. If they saw another bruise over her eye, they talked to her. Talk talk talk. They were an endless stream of talk. They went around in circles, going nowhere, solving nothing. Youngjae has nothing against social workers, personally. They’re warm people. They're just ineffective.

Himchan fits right into the mould. He appears to have set up his office in the pantry, making idle chatter and force-feeding colleagues. Himchan's good for the morale of their little social agency, Youngjae supposes. Every day at 4pm, the whole agency gathers round him to be diverted from the horrors that make up their work. But Yongguk is never anywhere to be seen. It's been a week since he joined, and he has yet to show up to tea-time. That makes Youngjae believe he has a new ally. And so he cranes his head over cubicles, looking for Yongguk. Though no one is around at tea-time, the office is tricky to navigate, piled high as it is with files that cannot find cabinets. But Youngjae persists. If they've hired another doctor, Youngjae is going to find him. Being surrounded by do-gooders is driving Youngjae nuts. He is going to find Yongguk, make him tea and share biscuits. And then they are going to have a sobering conversation about treatments backed up by hard science. About measured expectations.

He finally finds Yongguk's head peeking over a cubicle wall next to Himchan’s. _Why did they put him over here?_ Youngjae frowns. _They should let us stick together._ He makes a mental note to speak to management about it. _These tree-huggers can't save the world they want to save, and they can't run an organisation, either._

A stack of files falls over in the cubicle beside him. Well. Youngjae knew about their poor management skills already.

Yongguk is eerily silent. No tapping of the keyboard accompanies him, the way it always accompanies people sitting at their desks. Youngjae cranes his neck over the cubicle wall to look at what Yongguk is doing. It turns out Yongguk is reading a book. The cover reads, "The Working Poor: A Pedagogy of the Oppressed".

Oh great. Youngjae was completely wrong.

"Youngjae," he says, putting his book down. Youngjae needs an excuse to leave, stat. "Just the person I wanted to see. I need to talk to you about a client." Yongguk picks up a file from his desk. "Remember this little boy?"

 _Choi Junhong_ , the file says. It was a routine IQ test, nothing remarkable. "What about him?"

Yongguk opens the file and points to a phrase written in Youngjae's handwriting. 'Intellectually disabled.' He doesn't say anything.

"Yes?" Youngjae is beginning to get annoyed. He marvels at how social workers can't get to the point, even when they don't talk much.

"Don't you think there's something wrong with this diagnosis?" 

Youngjae has no idea what Yongguk is going on about. “His IQ is 66. That is below the threshold for intellectual disability. If you think there's something wrong with the way I ran the test, you're welcome to –"

Yongguk holds up his hand. It is authoritative, in a way that Youngjae immediately dislikes. "I'm not questioning the way you ran your test. Himchan told me you don't make mistakes. I'm questioning the diagnosis."

What's there to question? "He fits criteria."

"Aribitrary criteria. The threshold is 70, but there's no research to say that someone with an IQ of 69 is different from someone with an IQ of 71. Youngjae, this is a borderline case. Maybe your diagnosis is right by the book, but have you stopped to think of what it could do to Junhong?"

If Youngjae were to be honest with himself, he has not. But that's not his job. Besides, he thinks getting the diagnosis right is of utmost importance. 

Youngjae still remembers when his favourite client walked into the agency. The client was a young man, normal-looking enough, until he began to speak. He insisted angels sang to him day and night. His bizarre sentences made Youngjae think understanding the New York Times crossword might be easier. His mother was beside herself.

“He’s always been odd. But he did all right. Then he started on a law degree, and this happened. It must the stress,” she wept. 

The social workers took one look and whispered 'schizophrenia'. It was practically a death sentence. Himchan swooped down and babied Jongup in the most patronising way possible. But Youngjae rolled his eyes. _He’s in the best law programme in the country. Even if he sings with the angels, he’s not going to end up homeless and smelling of piss,_ he thought.

Youngjae shooed Himchan off and got Jongup into his office. There, he ran tests of memory, attention, intelligence: things normally compromised in people who looked like Jongup. Youngjae had a hunch they'd been spared in this case. 

“This case. You gave me a test in this case. Are you seeing the words jump around the pages too, in this case? I think we have to case the joint, but I don’t believe in joints. They smell. I do believe they hold our bodies together. Your body is a temple, young lady! I’m God.”

“No, you’re not,” Youngjae muttered to himself, as he ran the programme to calculate Jongup’s scores.

Jongup’s ears were sharp. “I think I used to be.” Thankfully, he didn’t look hurt, just puzzled. 

Youngjae could not help himself. “Did you quit or were you fired?”

They had a good laugh about it when Jongup was stabilised on meds – the right meds, not the ones Jongup would take if he'd really had schizophrenia. Jongup went on to specialise in mental health law. He still comes to see Youngjae when he’s stressed. He’ll be fine.

"Getting the diagnosis right is crucial," Youngjae says. "Think of where Jongup would be we'd fudged his."

"I'm not saying diagnosis is always wrong." Yongguk takes off his glasses and puts it alongside his book. This is usually the part where Himchan loses his temper at Youngjae. But Yongguk remains unnervingly calm. He sits there, fingers steepled, looking like a cross between one of Youngjae's college professors and a bodhisattva. "You were right to run those tests on Jongup. He needed the correct medication. No pill will make Junhong smarter, however. The right schooling may, but that was obvious without the label – he came in for failing every subject. Couldn't you help him without telling his parents he's stupid?"

Youngjae squirms. Yongguk is fixing him with the one eye visible through his bangs. It is moist but unblinking, and it makes Youngjae feel dumbest he's felt since residency. Of course Youngjae could have done that. He could have written a letter to Junhong's school, recommending that Junhong get individual attention in class. They would've listened without explanation – officials jump when they see the 'Dr.' in front of his name. Sometimes, when Youngjae is bored, he drafts letters to schools requesting Playstations and unlimited candy for his clients. He never sends them, but he wonders what would happen if he did.

“Worse, Junhong will see that report one day. I’m managing another case." Yongguk picks up a second file. This is one is tagged, _Jung Daehyun_. "This young man was diagnosed with learning disabilities when he was six. He's been bullied for carrying that label his whole life, but he pulled through. This year, he came of age, so we had to release his psychological reports to him. Now he thinks he will never amount to much. I'm cleaning up the mess a doctor made thirteen years ago, when he didn't think about who would be reading his report."

That doctor was not him. But still, Youngjae feels sad. He knows what it’s like to be a young man without hope. Maybe he should pass Yongguk a chart for Daehyun later.

“I know diagnoses are useful. They point us to things the human eye can't see. But they're also labels our clients struggle under for life. We must be aware of our power." Yongguk pauses, gathering himself. “We are here to elevate souls. Not chain them to words.”

Youngjae has no truck with poetry. They are oblique lines which say little. But this poetry, he thinks, may mean something.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to Dr. Elyn Saks for cribbing Jongup and Youngjae's exchange from her autobiography. It was too good to pass up.


End file.
